


The Inquisitor's Downfall

by AmatusBlanc



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Panic Attacks, Pining, i have no clue what i'm doing, should be interesting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmatusBlanc/pseuds/AmatusBlanc
Summary: Inquisitor Athras Lavellan can't handle the pressure he faces being the Herald of Andraste. He turns to alcohol to deal with his problems, but soon realizes he's become an alcoholic. He turns to Cullen for help, but their relationship quickly grows into something more. -New chapter update biweeklySome of the smaller canon details have been changed to better fit the story.





	1. Strangers and Missed Appointments

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not good at chaptered fics so we'll see how this goes. Well, really, I'm still kinda new to fic writing. 
> 
> Also
> 
> I don't have a beta, so yeah....

It was cold. Why is it so fucking cold? And hard. What the hell? I sit up quickly only to instantly regret it as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I groan, I must have had a ridiculous amount to drink last night, I don’t even remember what I did, I was with a group of Inquisition soldiers at the Herald’s Rest and then... 

I have no idea. After giving my eyes a moment’s rub, I look around to see that I had passed out on the stairs of my room the night before (or more likely, early this morning). And shit, I realize, I’m covered in vomit. It’s dried all down my chin and in my hair- fuck. It smells. I groan again and pull myself up. It’s the second time this week that I passed out before I made it to bed.

A headache begins to manifest itself as I sluggishly make my way over to the wash basin, stumbling into things and nearly tripping on a crack in the stone. The cool water feels great on my skin as I scrub at the throw-up dried onto my face. I stop, still holding the cloth up, examining myself. My eyes, a sickly yellow, the whites, bloodshot, the skin around them dark and sunken. I laugh drily, I look hungover, but not just hungover, sickly. I look fucking ill. I look into my own eyes, I can feel every person I’ve killed, every demon I’ve fought in those oddly unfamiliar eyes. 

I look away to the rim of the washing basin. The porcelain is clean and shiny, stark white, rimmed in silver, pretty, high quality, ugh. I let out a long sigh and look back to the mirror to start washing the vomit out of my dark hair. I can’t stand it though, that pretty fucking porcelain is mocking me. My knuckles turn white as I grip the rim. I dump what little remaining water there is over my head and I throw that high end piece of shit across the room. It smashes into the wall with a satisfying smack, shattering into a hundreds of little bits. Orlesian porcelain my ass.

Feeling a bit better after smashing the wash basin, I shed my clothes and collapse onto my bed, ready to enjoy the soft sheets, instead, getting an elbow to the face. What the hell, can’t I catch a break today? I push myself up on my arms to see who it is, annndd nope. 

I have no idea who the hell that is, he’s got a great ass though. 

Why’s he naked and I was fully dressed? Eh, who knows… I push him over and scooch myself under the blankets up against the man’s back. The human is quite a bit larger than I am and considerably more muscular, but his size is… nice. I let myself relax, I’m finding the warmth of this stranger oddly comforting. It’s difficult to ignore the fact that I’m quite lonely, I never wanted this for myself. I’m not a leader. I’m an apostate with a growing alcohol problem, if anything I should be back with the Dalish as an outcast. 

Oh, the self pity. 

I do my best to push those thoughts out of my head. I’m about to drift off when there is a loud knock at the door.

“What the hell do you want?!” I yell at the top of my lungs, aggravating my own hangover and causing the man next to me to jump and shoot me a resentful glance.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Inquisitor, but you are being asked for in the war room.” Oh shit, I completely forgot about the meeting today.

I let my head fall back and groan. I get up to pull on some clothing that is not covered in vomit, but I stand up too quickly and end up doubled over, vomiting all over the floor, barely missing my feet. Fuck, I’ll get a servant to clean it up.

“And you better not be here when I get back!” I call behind me as I rush down the stairs and out the door.  
-  
When I arrive at the war room it’s obvious my advisors are not particularly impressed with me. Shame burns its mark onto my cheeks and I wish I could hide it. Cassandra looks disgusted, her eyes are narrowed and her lips curl in a way that is painful for me to see. She looks like she’d like to do nothing more than than drive a sword through my side. I try to focus on the map on the war table, but I’m terribly late and have no clue what’s going on. I can feel Leliana’s eyes, but she looks more disappointed than anything, it feels like rocks settle in my stomach as she catches me looking and shakes her head. On top of nausea, I feel like I’m gonna be sick, again. Cullen is watching me carefully, but no one says anything.  
The meeting drags on until Cullen called its end. By the time I am allowed to leave my headache has cleared up, but the nausea persists slightly. 

I am ashamed of myself, just because I don’t want to be a leader doesn’t mean that I get to skip out on my responsibilities. 

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Cullen walking towards me, but I can’t bear to see another disappointed face, I just need to be alone. 

I take off as fast as my feet will go, call me a coward.

I can feel my breath speeding up, I’m trying so hard to keep it under control, but I can’t. Everytime I blink I see the corpse of someone I’ve killed or the face of a demon. I feel blood on my skin, soaking me. Enemies grabbing me as I’m overwhelmed in battle. I just want it to be over, the damn war, the nightmares, the- the everything. I grab the ever present flask from my belt and down it in a few gulps. It burns on the way down, but I can’t bring myself to care. 

I’ve failed the Inquisition because I’m too fucking weak to kill a few people or take on a few demons. I try to push the feelings down, but I fail. I press myself further into the corner, sinking onto the ground. I can’t breath. My hands wind themselves into my hair. Why? What did I do?

I can feel tears running down my face, my decent mood from this morning has, rather suddenly, spiralled into this. I’m a fucking mess. With the tears, however, comes my breathing, deep rasping breaths, shaky breaths. I have to get it together enough so I can leave this stink hole Skyhold calls a hallway.

I continue trying to even my breathing, smelling the musty odors of the stone and rubbing the tips of my hairs on my fingertips, to remind myself that I’m ok. Just as I've calmed down enough to stand, the sound of boots at the other end of the hallway. Cullen and two guards appear. Shit.


	2. To The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back into the beginning.

If I’m being completely honest, today would have to have been one the the worst days of my entire life. 

 

I wake up, chained to the floor, in a dark musty room with an irritable warrior woman to greet me. Oh yes, Cassandra, I think that’s her name anyway, just a _joy_ to be around. I mean really, she expected me to go unarmed through a valley full of demons? I am a mage so I do have some power unarmed, but my magic is significantly more useful when I have a staff and a focus with which to use it. And how the green mark on my hand does _burn_.

 

But let’s put the facade away. From the charred bodies in the aftermath of the explosion and the electricity charged Pride Demon, my nerves are absolutely shot. I don’t remember what happened after the rift was closed, but the nightmares that followed were hardly enjoyable. 

 

-

 

I could smell burnt flesh and the air was painfully dry, 

_ Where am I? _

 

I’m surrounded by burnt stone walls, there are corpses scattered everywhere. I try to walk forward, away from the bodies, toward open ground, but my legs would move at only the most sluggish of paces, it’s like trying to walk through molasses during Wintermarch in Ferelden. As my struggles forward become more desperate I feel the little fine hairs on my neck stand up. My hearts begins to thump, almost painfully, in my chest and I fight even harder to run. 

 

But I am still barely able to move. I strain to hear anything or see past the muddy shadows near the edges of the burnt temple. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a flicker of purple light, for a moment I am hopeful that the light comes from a source of help, but that good feeling doesn’t last long. 

 

As the light gets closer I become painfully aware that it is, in fact, not friendly magic. It is magic that’s sole purpose is to kill, the magic of a very powerful, very angry demon. 

 

I want to scream as the demons pounding footsteps draw nearer, but I can’t draw the breath needed. 

 

The demon continues its stomping approach until I can feel its magic stinging my legs. I can’t turn, I can’t move fast enough to even think about defending myself. 

 

The demon chuckles evilly sending chills down my spine. I feel one of its burning hands wrap around my body. It holds me so that the only place I am able to look is straight into its hate filled gaze. The demons many dark beady eyes are all focussed on me, they fill with laughter as its hand begins to squeeze. 

 

-

 

My eyes fly open and bolt up in bed. I am drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmare has left me feeling shaky and breathless. To make matters worse, I fully expect to be in my home with my clan for a moment before I remember where I am. 

 

A stinking shem village called Haven.

 

I try to scrounge up the memories of exactly what happened, but it’s not until I catch a glimpse of the glowing mark on my hand that I remember. I shut that big rift in the sky, I recall the way my mark burned and pulled as that tear in the Fade was scarred shut and the deafening crack it made as it closed. Beyond that, however, I do not having any recollection of how I ended up in this bed. 

 

Before I have time to think about it the door to this gods forsaken cabin opens and a skinny elven servant appears. Upon seeing that I’m awake she drops what she carries and stammers out an apology and something about Cassandra. She takes off before I have the chance to think of a reply. 

 

-

 

On my way to the Chantry I can’t stop thinking about my nightmare and the actual demons from the Fade. The charred bodies, how any one of those corpses could have been the rest of my scouting party. I shudder and feel faintly ill at the thought. 

 

What I would do for a drink right about now. 

 

That’s is something the clan has never really approved of about me, drinking that is. It’s always been an enjoyable pastime for me. Right now though it feels like an almost irresistible urge. I can hear the other soldiers drinking and chattering away at the tavern several meters from where I stand and it takes every cell of self control in my body not to say “fuck Cassandra, let’s go have a drink”. 

 

These people seem to need me,

 

Or rather, 

 

They need my mark. 

 

I shake myself and summon up some composure. 

I straighten out my clothes and it occurs to me that this is not the outfit I was wearing when I arrived at the Conclave. I shiver at the thought of someone having undressed me. 

-

When I enter the war room, looking for Cassandra to find out what the hell I’m supposed to do next, that shem clergyman points at me and tries to have me arrested. I’m a split second away from trying to bolt, when Cassandra waves off the soldiers. It’s quite obvious the clergyman thinks I’m guilty of some horrible misdeed. Thankfully though Cassandra (of all people) comes to my defense go on about how my the mark on my hand could be useful in controlling the Breach and all that. 

 

But it’s when she starts to speak of an Inquisition that a sickening realisation hits me, I’m not going home. I’m expected to stay here with all this death and violence, an image of charred corpses flashes in my head. I’m no longer listening to what’s going on around the war table, my eyes are squeezed shut in an attempt to block about the remains at the Conclave, in vain of course. 

 

Cassandra’s voice startles me out of thinking,

“We must act now, with you at our side.” 

 

I look up to see that the Chancellor has left, but both Cassandra's and Leliana’s gazes are turned on me. I consider what to say for a moment, but I know that if this _thing_  on my hand can seal rifts than I cannot, in good conscience, leave. 

 

I think the gods must hate me for bestowing such a burden. 

 

I swallow as the words are thick in my throat,

“Alright, for now, I will stay.” 

 

Cassandra reaches out her hand out to me, but I turn away a little ashamedly. 

This is not something I want. 


End file.
